


hey, haywoods

by Bookreader525



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: F/F, Family Issues, Female MC - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, MC is very insecure, One Shot, Romance, i just totally made up Penny's family, i really wanted to write them so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 17:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookreader525/pseuds/Bookreader525
Summary: It's April 1998. The second wizarding war is raging. You finally meet your girlfriend's family. And, unfortunately, secrets are still left unsaid.





	hey, haywoods

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody! Yes, I'm back. And let me tell you, I hate this game so much. At this point I'm only playing because of the vague possibility I might get to date Penny in the future. Please, Merlin, let it happen. But anyway... I wrote this because I wanted to explore Penny's family a bit more. All we know is she has a little sister, is half-blood, and from London. So I took that little bit of information and kinda ran with it. I hope you guys find this interesting, and thank you so much for reading!

Penny shifts next to you, restless as ever, and your skin prickles when her corn silk-soft hair brushes your arm. A cold sweat springs up on the back of your neck.

"I don't understand why you're so embarrassed," you speak up, just to burst the balloon of silence. "Do you think your family will hate me or something?"

"What? No," she responds. Her words are lighter than air, spoken absently, with no substance to them. Then she meets your eyes, finally focusing on something for the first time since the trip began. "My family… they're just…" She sighs, raking her fingers through the bundle of hair falling down her back. "They're… intense."

"Pen, we've met the Weasleys. Are they more intense than them?"

She half-shrugs. "Imagine the Weasleys, except there's less of us and everyone is blonde instead of ginger."

"Well…" You snake an arm behind her slim waist. "In case you haven't noticed, I do fancy blondes."

She swats you away with a nervous titter. "(Name)! You can't do that around them, alright? Promise you won't."

You frown, feeling like a damp towel has been tossed over your heart and feelings. Cover them up, suppress them, don't let anyone know. You are already aware it's futile to argue. "I promise."

Penny takes one last deep breath, then stands up and approaches the portkey. The first leg of the trip had to be traveled via flying; the second leg will consist of a quick touch to a rusty bucket in an empty field.

You ditch your broom, pick up your trunk, and join her. Just before your hands land on the bucket, you smirk over at her. "Should've brewed a calming draught, love." Then your fingers graze the cool metal surface, and the next instant you land hard on your shoulder.

"Blimey…" you mutter, propping yourself up on the sidewalk. As Penny pops into existence beside you— also landing on her side with a pained grunt— you snort. "Could've at least placed a cushion here or something, Pen."

She stands and brushes herself off. "Quit it, (Name). Now's not the time to joke around." She offers a fleeting hand to help you up before she launches herself down the street. You have to jog to keep up with her brisk pace.

You soon realize you appeared in a side alley. Once you and Penny turn out of it, you're on a far busier residential street. The hustle and bustle of London surrounds you, and even though you're wearing muggle clothes, you still worry that people can see right through your disguise. You know that's silly— it's not like you have the word "WITCH" branded on your forehead.

She doesn't slow down for a second. You tug at your uncomfortable jeans, which are borrowed from Penny and are somewhat tight. You almost feel like your internal organs are being squeezed into mush. Your hidden wand, tucked in the waistband, digs into your hip bone with every step.

After some distance, you two finally come to a halt in front of a narrow townhouse nestled in between a corner shop and another home. The house looks welcoming, painted a pleasant robin's egg blue color. Flower baskets hang from the window sills, filled with an assortment of begonias in full bloom.

Penny chews on her lip, hesitates, then mounts the three steps leading to the front door. She pauses again as you wait behind her, then she rings the doorbell.

After a few seconds, the door swings open. You recognize Penny's little sister, Beatrice, who looks less than thrilled to see visitors.

"Well," Beatrice says, words dripping with venom, "Look who finally decided to introduce her best 'mate' to the family." She uses air quotes around the word "mate," and right away your nerves buzz uneasily. So much for being like the Weasleys. You never realized how moody Beatrice could be.

She started at Hogwarts during your and Penny's fifth year, and was sorted into Slytherin. Nearly the entire Great Hall had fallen into a shocked silence when the Sorting Hat declared its choice. Surely, they murmured, the younger Haywood sister couldn't be in  _that_  house. But you knew Penny definitely had some Slytherin-minded tendencies, so you figured Beatrice must've leaned more that way than Hufflepuff. Beatrice had been pleasant, albeit quiet, when Penny brought you to meet her that year. But now, nearly ten years later, all of you long graduated, it's clear there's not much room for pleasantries anymore. You like to blame things on the war currently raging— even the smallest things, like a badly-brewed potion, must be the war's fault— and you know for a fact that war changes people. It's changed Penny. And it seems to have changed Beatrice too.

"Don't even start with that," Penny hisses. "If you say a single bloody word to Mum or Dad, you'll find yourself at the wrong end of my wand." With that, she grabs your hand and pulls you into the house, breezing right by the younger witch. Beatrice sneers behind her sister's back and kicks the door shut.

In a lot of ways, she resembles her older sibling. Both have long blonde hair, though Beatrice always keeps hers in a loose, messy bun that hangs low at the nape of her neck. Her eyes are the same blue, but they seem watered-down, somehow, compared to Penny's. Beatrice is also taller than her sister, leaner, and less curvy. She even seems like the elder one, with her paler, tired-looking skin and diluted, sour outlook on life.

As you and Penny venture deeper into the house, all these long hallways and doors unfurl around you. It's like the magical tents you and your family used to stay in for a weekend during the big pro Quidditch games. On the outside, the house looks small and unsuspecting, but inside it's huge and endless. Penny leads you straight back, however, bypassing the hallways in favor of the kitchen. There you find her parents, who you've seen only in pictures. Penny, ever the secretive one, had never once invited you over in the summer. And during holidays, you were always with your own parents, who were so obsessed with you and obviously making up for having lost one child. But even after Jacob was found— ah, well, you'd rather not think about your family at the moment anyway.

You remember when Penny met your folks. She had been charming, all smiles and gorgeous as always, fluttering her eyelashes, eagerly pulling your mother into a hug and offering her hand for your father to shake. You had been hoping you'd be just as friendly and professional when you finally got to meet her parents.

But as soon as they turn to face you, you transform into a blubbering mess. Her mum is like an older, wizened Penny, and clearly was beautiful in her day. Her just-as-golden hair is trimmed short, landing just above her shoulders. Her eyes are this bright, full-of-life brown. It's obvious from the look of her why she was sorted into Hufflepuff.

"Oh, Penelope!" She rushes forward, naturally, to her daughter first. She sucks Penny into a rib-crushing embrace. Any other person would wince at being suffocated, but of course Penny, being Penny, shows no sign of discomfort. Even so, the first thing she says when her mum pulls back is "Mum, please. I'd rather just be Penny."

You chuckle. You've known her full name for ages now, and when you feel like annoying her, calling her Penelope is the perfect solution. Still, hearing her mum say it in a non-joking way is surprising. It must be what she always calls Penny.

Then, at last, her mother steps over to you. "(Name)! It's so nice to  _finally_ meet you," she gushes, pulling you into one of those brief hugs that people do just to be polite. She also shoots a scolding glance at Penny while emphasizing "finally," and when Mrs. Haywood isn't looking you stick your tongue out at your girlfriend. Penny only rolls her eyes in response.

"It's, uh, it's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Haywood," you say.

"No, please, call me Hazel," she insists.

Penny's dad has been waiting just behind for his turn. He's tall and lean. A mop of wispy, lemony blond hair tinged with silver sits atop his head. His daughters got his eyes, which twinkle a sharp cobalt as they land on you. You've rarely interacted with muggles, and when he greets you, you feel a bit strange. Of course, being around his magical wife and children, he must be in the know about Voldemort and all that. Despite that, you can't help but wonder how he feels about other magic folk.

"Hello, (Name). And don't bother with any of that 'Mr. Haywood' business; just call me Dean," he says with a kind grin.

Hazel ushers you and Penny into a couple of chairs and sets full plates of food in front of you both. "Please, eat," she says, and you have a feeling that if you don't start stuffing your face right away, she'll shove the food in your mouth herself.

Beatrice chooses this moment to saunter back into the room. She flicks her wand, and a can of soda exits the fridge and lands in her waiting hand. She sits down heavily in the chair between you and Penny, and you jump a little. You hadn't noticed there was an empty space there, because Penny was holding your hand (out of sight, of course) under the table. Beatrice's knee hits your clasped hands, and with a barely audible sigh Penny unweaves her fingers from between yours.

"So, the lovely Penelope has returned. How's life been treating you, dear sister?"

"I've been fine, Bea," Penny answers patiently. You notice her tense arm stab a piece of chicken fiercely. "We've all been better, though, I think."

"Oh yes." Beatrice crosses her arms slowly. "I've certainly been better. It's been a cakewalk here, living at home like I'm five years old."

Penny chews on her lip. "Maybe if you got a job," she says stiffly, "you wouldn't have to live at home."

"Because it's so easy to go out and get a job in the middle of a war. Maybe I should just join the ranks of You-Know-Who. That's where all Slytherins belong anyway, right?"

Penny's fork drops onto the plate with a sharp  _clang_. "Bea, never once have I said anything to you about being a Slytherin. I don't understand why— why you think that I think being Slytherin is a crime! I don't think that at all! Yet still you attack me."

Beatrice's face darkens. "Maybe it's not about being Slytherin, then. Maybe it's something deeper than what's on the surface." She snatches up her drink and exits the room.

Even though she's gone, she left part of the gloomy storm cloud following her around. Now the darkness has settled on Penny. You chew your food, glancing from your plate to her. She sits, frozen. All of a sudden, her arm darts out from her lap and in a split second her hand is nestled within yours (under the table, of course, sight unseen).

"Pen?" you murmur. But she doesn't say a word. Her parents, silent this entire time, remain speechless as statues.

* * *

 

Though there is an endless supply of rooms, the rooms are small. You are placed in a guest bedroom across the hall from Penny's childhood room. That night, you spend maybe twenty minutes lying in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, before you give in. You slip out from under the covers and sneak across to her room.

In the dim light, you can make out her shape huddled on the bed. She's on her side, facing away from you and toward the window.

You lift the lilac-colored bedspread and burrow into the sheets. She rolls onto her back, her cheek falling onto the pillow as she gazes at you.

"I wish…" The words come out all shaky, too unstable. She takes a breath that forecasts tears to come, and begins again. "I wish they were more welcoming."

"They were, love. They were very kind."

"No, no. My parents were all restrained. They're so bloody quiet. They don't talk when it matters. And Bea… well, she's been different for a while." A single tear slides down her cheek, a single diamond glittering on pale skin.

Your mind fumbles, and you opt for the quick reassurance route: humor. "Well, maybe it isn't too late for the Weasleys to adopt us."

She only sniffles.

You backtrack and go for the other feel-better method.

You inch closer to her, the mattress groaning beneath you. Your hand finds her hair, which is loose from its usual plaits, and your fingers glide through the silky strands. You can barely see her in the ever-consuming dark, but you know by heart how beautiful she looks. It gets your heart pumping swiftly. You lean in and capture her lips; you can sense the smile beginning to emerge as you two kiss slowly, surely, indefinitely, forever. Then you move your mouth downward, along her delicate jawbone, then to her neck. You seek out the most sensitive areas of skin, sucking and nibbling. She exhales, puffing sweet air onto you, and whines out your name. "Ah… damn. Damn. (Name), please… you're going to leave marks."

"Good," you growl, but she pushes you away.

"Not now," she whispers, but you can tell she is filled to the brim with longing just as much as you are. "Not in my parents' house. Later, love. I promise."

You both cuddle without speaking for a while, but eventually she sighs into your hair, "You should get back to your room… they'll find us in the morning, tangled in each other." She giggles, and that sound alone warms your core. "They'll think we're… mad."

"Madly in love," you say.

"(Name)," she says. The laugh is already gone from her voice. "I love you."

"But it has to be a secret?"

"It has to be a secret."

* * *

 

You return to your room. Tearing yourself away from her is as heartbreaking to you as tearing a page out of a book would be for Rowan. You think for a bit about your friend. You know they're holed up at their home on the tree farm during the war, caring for their ailing mother. You think about all of your friends. Barnaby enlisted in the Order of the Phoenix; he's probably out somewhere fighting alongside Harry Potter right now. At the first inkling of war, Ben had melted back into the muggle world and hasn't been heard from since. Bill is married to that girl, who, despite her veela heritage, doesn't rival Penny's beauty (in your humble opinion, of course). Charlie's out somewhere, working with dragons. Tulip, of all people, had joined him years ago and they've only been heard from sporadically. Andre has gone pro with Pride of Portree, though there is little time for Quidditch these days. And Tonks— she just had her son.

In all honesty, you're still reeling from the fact that Tonks not only married a  _werewolf_ several years her senior, but also was the first in the group to have a child. It was the last thing any of you expected, really. You remember when Tonks told you and Penny the news, your jaw had dropped to the floor and Pen had gasped, grabbing your arm tightly.

Back in your Hogwarts days, you would spend hours hanging out on the lawn during the warmer months. Lying on your back, Rowan on your left, Penny on your right, Tonks and Tulip somewhere nearby too, and the sky a canopy far above you. You can still feel the grass tickling your bare arms, and the way your fingers would idly play with your wand, nails scraping wood. That was your left hand— your right would be grazing Penny's constantly.

It was probably seventh year when Tonks spoke up on one such occasion. "I'm never having children," she'd proclaimed, crossing one leg over the other. "Such a hassle. And imagine if they'd be a Metamorphagus like me— they would turn into Filch all the time just to spite me!" With that, she turned into the grizzled caretaker and snarled, " _Get away from me, you dirty little beast!_ "

You all chuckled. "I'm not really interested in kids, either," Tulip had said. "I don't want to settle down; I want to travel. Plus, I don't want to go through actually  _having_ them— getting fat and being moodier than Snape on a Monday morning. Then suffering through hours of pain only to end up with something that looks vaguely like a wrinkled pink goblin."

You'd laughed. "I'm with you two. I'd be an awful mother anyway. I would go off to work and forget that I left the baby at home alone with only a box of matches to play with!"

As another round of giggles faded away, Penny finally piped up. "I don't know… I mean, I think I would like to be a mum someday. Not for a while yet, of course, but I…" She trailed off for a second, as everyone stared at her with furrowed brows, then she went on, "I think it's a beautiful thing to have a child. I don't know." She shrugged sheepishly and looked down.

Tonks sighed and leaned back on the tree trunk she was sitting against. "Okay, well, you're different from us, Penny. You're a decent person."

Tulip snorted. "You won't have any trouble finding a handsome bloke to help fulfill your wish." She winked, and Rowan suddenly slapped their hands over their mouth.

"Merlin's beard! Imagine if Penny and Barnaby had a baby together! They would be so gorgeous."

An annoyed blush colored Penny's cheeks, and your heart sunk a little deeper into your stomach. Ever since the ball that year, when Barnaby had asked Penny to dance with him (and, mind you, they were only together for five minutes) the entire group was convinced that she returned his obvious feelings.

You caught Penny's gaze and raised your eyebrows slightly. No one knew about the relationship you shared with her, though it was getting harder to hide. What started as a tiny flame back in fourth year had grown into a full-out forest fire by seventh year. Forest fires are quite difficult to conceal. And as the other three gossiped and teased and laughed around you, you and Penny only stared at each other and let your hands drift slowly, slowly, closer together on the soft grass.

Back in the present, you look at the dark ceiling above you and think that surely you will never be enough for Penny Haywood. You can't naturally give her children, you can't marry her because she wants things to be under wraps, and you can't keep her safe forever. You want to join the Order too, and help fight in the war. You love her so much it makes you dizzy, but you can't be the perfect person for her— not in any lifetime. The devastation hollows out your stomach and makes you curl into the tiniest ball under the sheets.

* * *

 

The next morning, you wander into the kitchen rubbing your sleep-crusted eyes. Hazel is at the stove, waving her wand about to summon ingredients for pancakes. She hears your step on the creaky floorboards, and without turning around she greets you and sends a cup of coffee floating in your direction. "You like it with just a little cream, correct, (Name)?" she asks, and you respond with a grateful "Yes" before bringing the mug to your lips.

You find Penny sitting at the table, hunched over a large book that is open to the middle, its yellowed pages divided evenly on either side. She has her elbows planted on both lower corners of the immense book and her hands clasped behind her neck. Her hair is tamed back into a high ponytail today, with a few strands framing her face and a thin braid snaking along one side of her head, just above her ear, before disappearing into the ponytail. You have to admit, the effort she puts into her appearance is admirable— you almost always have your hair loose and only combed through just enough to get the tangles out.

Since her mum isn't looking, you sneak a quick kiss onto Penny's cheek as you take your seat beside her. "What're you reading?" you ask, biting your tongue to keep yourself from tacking on the pet name " _love_ " at the end of your question.

"Oh, it's just potions research," she mumbles, only sparing you a fleeting glance before her eyes dart back down to eat up the words on the stained old pages. You nod knowingly and sip your coffee. She's been working hard on developing potions, both new ones and improvements on pre-existing ones. She's never super specific about what she's doing, but you know that whatever it is, it's for the greater good.

Beatrice wanders in with a bad case of bedhead that she pays no mind to. She only goes to the fridge and grabs her can of soda. Strange to have soda in the morning, you think, but you keep the thought to yourself.

You and Penny spend a lazy day, staying in the house. You watch a little television with her dad, which is interesting to say to least. It almost sickens you, in a way, seeing that the muggle world is functioning fairly well, with its bad sitcoms and blabbering news reporters. London lives on around you, just outside these walls, while the wizarding world is raging and suffering.

That night, you're trudging down the hall from the bathroom to your room when, in the darkness, somebody forces you against the wall. Fear blossoms in your chest. You wriggle around, heart slamming, but then feel the stab of a wand digging into your throat, and you freeze.

"Listen to me," a voice says. It's ominously low, and female.

"Bea… Beatrice?" you stammer.

" _Listen_ to me, (Last name)," she spits. "My sister has some nerve, bringing you into our home. Secret girlfriends, all chummy and holding hands under the table. It's a cute act you put up with her."

"What? What are you talking abou—" Her wand jabs deeper into your neck, and you grit your teeth.

"Don't play dumb," Beatrice says. "Years ago, you helped her brew a Forgetfulness Potion. Is that right?"

You nod.

The pressure on your windpipe lessens slightly, and you gasp out a breath. "And when my dear sister consulted you on whether or not she should drink the potion, what did you say?"

"I… I- I told her to drink it."

"And she drank it. She forgot  _all_ about the werewolf attack, didn't she?"

Again, you nod.

"And she forgot Scarlett ever existed, yes?" Without waiting for your confirmation, she proceeds. "And when she came home from school that year, we all had to tiptoe around her. She was blissfully unaware of the attack that was all her fault." At last, Beatrice's wand is lowered, and in the din you can see her gaze at you in defeat. "There are some things that should be remembered, (Name). And if you're going to be the one who ends up with my sister, I really think you should've known better."

Then she's gone.

You tremble all the way to Penny's room.

"Pen," you whisper, feverishly patting at the covers until you feel her shape and warmth tucked under the covers. "Pen, I'm sorry."

She turns to meet your eyes. For a moment, you see Beatrice's face in hers and you can't suppress a shudder. "Sorry for what, love?" she whispers.

"I failed you. And if I say more about it, then I'll fail you even more." You bury your face in her chest, and she rubs your back. You stay like that for who knows how long. And she lets you stay with her that night too.

* * *

 

You dream of an ivory dance floor, lazily rotating lights moving above your head. Penny shows up in the dress she wore to the fourth-year ball, yellow with white ruffles, as Hufflepuff as a dress can be. You feel a laugh rumble in your chest, but there is no sound. You smile and sweep her into your arms. You know you're not good enough— the feeling burns inside you, blooming into an orange flower of despair, and no matter how many times you cut the stem, the flower regrows, rooted deep inside you, alight with your resignation— but you hold her close anyway. Together, you spin leisurely under the lights, shoes clicking soundlessly on the floor.

* * *

 

Two evenings later, the fourth night of your week-long stay, you're camped out in your room, bored, reading a novel that you'd picked off of a shelf in the living room.

Your door is thrown open with a startling gust of sweet-smelling air that hits you like a solid wave. Before you even look up, you know it's Penny.

She marches over to you and demands in a trembling voice, "What did my sister say to you?"

You gulp and set down your book. "What are you—"

"Bea said something to you, didn't she? The other night?"

"Oh." You bend your legs and hug them against your torso. "Pen, I don't—"

"Don't say you don't remember, (Name), because I know you do. Did she threaten you?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek. "How do you know she said anything to me?"

"Because I  _know_ how my sister is." Penny sits down gingerly at the foot of the bed. She gazes at you imploringly, baby blues wide and full of furious sparks. "And you've been acting odd for a couple days now."

You take a deep breath. "Fine, I'll tell you, but you won't understand."

Her brows scrunch together. "Alright?"

"Our third year in school. I helped you brew a Forgetfulness Potion."

She stares at you blankly. Her face is impossible to read.

"Because you… there… there was something that happened you wanted to forget."

You can barely hear her when she talks. "Oh, no…"

"And Beatrice is angry that I encouraged you to drink the potion. She didn't want you to forget."

Penny blinks at you for a second or two, then she hides her face behind her hands. She leans forward and cries gently. Instantly you crawl over to her and sling your arm over her shoulders. "It's okay, love. It's okay."

"No, it's…" Penny shakes her head. You can't see her face, but when she removes her hands there is smeared mascara staining her palms. "(Name), I remember the werewolf attack."

Shock gnaws at your insides. "How is that possible?"

"I forgot about it for a year after I drank the potion. But the summer after fourth year… I got in a nasty fight with my father and he reminded me all about it. He told me that I was best friends with this muggle named Scarlett, and she was killed before I could protect her from a werewolf." She wipes her nose. "He… well, my father never tells a lie, (Name). And he was the angriest I've ever seen him. He scolded me for trying to use my stupid magic concoctions to cover up the truth and make myself feel better. He called me selfish. And I put some research into it. I found the obituary for Scarlett in the newspaper archives at the library." Penny leans into you. "Oh, love, it was the worst realization of my life. But there's something else."

Your eyes almost bug out of your head. "There's more?"

"I… I wasn't completely honest with you when I told you about the attack for the first time." Penny starts crying again. A sob claws its way up her throat, and it feels like your heart is being squeezed by a set of icy talons. You pull her in closer to you and hug her tightly. "(Name)… it wasn't just… just me and Scarlett who found the werewolf, apparently. Bea was with us." Your blood runs cold as you continue to listen. "The werewolf got Scarlett, of course, and then it must have… well, Bea must have been too close also. Sh- she was bitten that night, (Name)."

You genuinely can't think of what to say. You just keep on embracing her and tracing circles lightly on her shuddering back. "She doesn't know that I know she's a… well, you get the picture."

Your mind wanders for a moment, thinking back to the sodas Beatrice has been guzzling at various points throughout the day ever since you arrived here. At one point you had reached for one yourself and she nearly sliced your arm off with her murderous gaze alone, so you refrained. And she's still living at home, unable to find a job. Your veins are completely frozen now. "The full moon is coming up, isn't it," you mutter in horror.

"I suppose this wasn't the best week to stay," Penny admits. "But she's been drinking her potion. She always manages to get her hands on Wolfsbane, somehow." Finally, the blonde moves aside so she can look at you. "And she's why I'm working on an improvement of the Wolfsbane potion. A version that has less expensive ingredients, and a version that doesn't have to be drunk over a week, rather just the night before a transformation."

You've heard about Wolfsbane before. Snape mentioned it probably twice during all your years at Hogwarts, though you never brewed it in class due to its difficulty and there being little need for it. Then Tonks married Remus Lupin— Penny hadn't even winced when Tonks boasted about tying the knot with a werewolf.

"Why don't you tell her that you know, then?" you ask Penny. "Tell her that you're trying to make life easier for werewolves."

"I don't know. I haven't made much progress on the potion yet, anyway." Penny sighs. "I'll tell her soon."

"You should."

"I promise I will."

You observe her exhausted expression and decide that, honestly, secrets are not worth keeping. It's a shame that Penny Haywood loves being so secretive. It's also a shame that you still have secrets to keep.

Well, you figure, you'll tell her someday. So you keep your arm around her and stay silent for now.


End file.
